Visiting Hours
by Emmel1118
Summary: Snapshots of the visits Lindsay receives over her fifteen years in prison - because she's not as alone as she thinks.
1. 1 - Helen Dryden

_**Visiting Hours **_

_**Summary – Snapshots of the visits Lindsay receives over her fifteen years in prison - because she's not as alone as she thinks. **_

_**Author's Note – I believe that this is the first Line of Duty fanfiction ever, so that's awesome... Well, this was born because I was a little disappointed that we never got a Lindsay/Dryden scene. It spiralled and well, this is the result – it isn't what I originally planned, but I quite like it. **_

_**This fic is going to be a series of interconnected two-shots, set over the fifteen years Lindsay spends in prison and those people who chose to come and visit her. The first part will focus on the visitor – for example, this chapter focuses on Helen Dryden, Mike's wife, during her visit to Lindsay in prison. The second part will focus on Lindsay and her reactions to the visit afterwards. There will be about fifteen two-shots so about thirty chapters overall, if all goes to plan. I hope this makes sense...**_

_**And here we go...I hope you enjoy. **_

_**DISCLAIMER**__** – I own nothing. (Except the mistakes, all of them are mine!)**_

_One – Helen Dryden_

She's never been in a prison before. She's never even been inside a police station, which is more than a little surprising because her husband was a police officer for more than three decades, Helen Dryden thinks to herself as she hands her handbag over to the watchful prison officer. The woman searches roughly through the bag as Helen passes through the metal detector. It doesn't go off, not that she was expecting it to. The officer hands her the bag back, waving her on through.

Clutching her handbag to her like a lifeline, Helen takes a few steps further into the room. She takes a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves – not even sure why she has come, and with no clue what she's going to say. A strip of glass separates the prisoners and their visitors and Helen realises that she's the only person, bar the officer – who looks utterly bored, standing in the furthest corner possible – in the entire room. Taking another breath, Helen crosses to a chair and sits down, swallowing the urge to cut and run before the prisoner turns up.

But the need for answers overwhelms the urge to run.

Helen sits in silence, nervously twiddling her thumbs, waiting. It's nearly five minutes later that the door on the other side of the glass swings open and the prisoner enters, flanked by prison officers. She finds herself drawn to the stranger's face, with its tired eyes and pale cheeks.

The woman sits down opposite her, her hands resting on the table in front of her. Neither of them know what to say – even Helen, who had requested the meeting. "Well," The woman on the other side of the glass says, quietly, before sighing. "I can't say I was expecting this," she adds, softly, a long, silent moment later.

"Neither..." Helen breaks off, her mouth dry, her tongue glued to the top of her mouth. She gives a short cough. "Neither was I." It's the truth; Helen hadn't expected any of what has unfolded over the last three months, her carefully controlled life slowly spiralling out of her reach.

No matter how prepared she had thought she was for this visit, Helen is painfully aware how vulnerable she feels, facing this woman through the glass. The stranger's gaze keeps darting around the room, as if she's unsure where to look. Helen realises that she never thought that a woman like the one across from her could ever nearly ruin her life like she had.

She has such a forgettable face.

"Lindsay," the woman says, hurriedly. "It's my name." Helen's eyes dart back up to Lindsay's face, with weary eyes and drawn features, but only for a second. "Though I'm sure you already know that. Seeing as it was at your request we're here." The other woman gives a short, sharp, humourless laugh. "I thought maybe we should introduce ourselves."

"You know who I am," Helen replies, coldly, unsure what game the other woman is playing.

Lindsay sighs, rubbing her face with both of her hands. "What do you what, Mrs Dryden? Or should I call you Helen?" She's being sarcastic, and she's angry too, Helen notes – though, if she were in her position, Helen reasons she would be too.

"Mrs Dryden is satisfactory," Helen replies, icily.

"Ms Denton, then, thank you," the other woman shoots back, matching Helen's tone beat for beat. "I'm guessing Mike doesn't know you're here?"

"Does it matter?"

"No...no, not really," Lindsay admits, after a pause. "How did you find out?" Even though the other woman doesn't specify, Helen instantly knows what she's talking about. "Mike didn't tell you."

She reaches into her handbag and picks out a newspaper clipping and sets in down on the desk. Lindsay leans forward in her seat, straining her eyes to read the writing. Helen cannot even bear to read the headline, but forces herself to, so she can remind herself why she is here.

'Disgraced ex-DCC hit by second scandal', it reads. Her eyes flick to the next line, which makes for even more cheerful reading - 'Ex-copper had five year affair with former colleague.'

"I woke up to that two weeks after Mike resigned. Someone leaked the story to the press. As you can imagine, my morning was ruined."

"My name isn't mentioned," Lindsay points out, quietly.

Helen reaches into her bag again and pulls out another clipping, placing it next to the other one. This one's headline is 'EXCLUSIVE: Scandal-hit ex-copper's mistress was corrupt ambush cop.' Helen watches as Lindsay can't finish the article, getting half way through before looking away in embarrassment and disgust. "This appeared about a week later." Shaking her head, Helen studies the face of her husband's ex-lover, wondering what he ever saw in the pale, pasty faced woman who is looking back at her.

It's then that Helen plucks the worst clipping out of her handbag, setting in on the table and watching with slight curiosity as the woman on the other side of the glass is unable to keep her gaze away for long. Lindsay reads the headline slowly, but this time, she can't even start the article. This doesn't surprise Helen. The story doesn't really show her in a very good light, if she's being honest.

The headline reads 'Ex-DCC forced lover to have abortion'.

"This came out about a month later," Helen says into the tense silence.

Helen can see the pain written on Lindsay's face even before the other woman breaks the silence."Why are you doing this?" She manages to get out, her voice strangled and strained. "What good will it do you?"

"I want answers," Helen replies, coolly, her tone completely level. When the other woman doesn't answer, Helen starts gathering up the clippings and is putting them in her handbag when Lindsay speaks up.

"You've read the stories, you know Mike," she says, her voice quiet, and Helen realises that the article about the abortion has really unsettled her. "He isn't the saint everyone thinks he is, _Mrs Dryden._"

Helen's face sets in a scowl. "I know my own husband, thank you very much," she hits back in reply. "He says the baby, it wasn't his."

"Well then he's lying," Lindsay counters. "Plain and simple."

The room lapses into an uncomfortable silence, neither sure quiet what to say.

It's Helen who breaks it, needing to speak, needing answers, "He never cared about you."

"I realised that. A long time ago," Lindsay replies. "He promised me he'd leave you and I was an idiot and believed him." Helen can hear the bitterness in the other woman's tone. Lindsay's words are the first thing she's said during the meeting that have actually surprised Helen. "Didn't know that, did you?" The other woman says, softly. "I loved him too." Even though she had been expecting words along these lines the whole meeting, they still hurt. "What I fool I've been," she adds, softly, after a long pause, and Helen can hear the weariness in the other woman's voice. "What fools he's made of both of us." Helen nearly misses Lindsay's next remark, she's speaking so quietly, but she just catches it and it stings.

"Mike hasn't made a fool of me," she says, coldly.

"Really? Because that's what it looks like from where I'm sitting." Lindsay sighs again. "Mike never cared about anything apart from his job and whoops, that's gone now, isn't it? How long do you think it'll take before he gets bored of you and finds someone else - someone younger, someone prettier...?" Lindsay trails off, her words having the desired effect.

"You should remember which side of the glass you're sitting on, Ms Denton," Helen hits back, icily, anger lacing her words with intent.

"Oh, I know which side I'm on," Lindsay replies, softly.

Neither woman says anything for a very long time after that.

"I hope you and Mike are _very_ happy together." The sarcasm is obvious in her voice, as Lindsay looks at her with a piercing, icy stare. "He deserves someone as cold as you."

"But at least I'm not a criminal," Helen retorts, calmly. "An abortion was the best thing for the child, in my opinion, with you as its mother." Helen can see her words have had the desired effect, riling the other woman, making her angrier than Helen has seen her the whole meeting.

She knows her words are on the harsh side, but she doesn't care – this is the woman who had an affair with her husband for five years, why should she feel pity for her? Why should she be _nice_ to her husband's former mistress? "What are you in here for again? Oh, yes, conspiracy to murder. Four police officers were murdered, Ms Denton, all on your head."

Lindsay doesn't reply, too stunned at Helen's callous words to form a decent retort.

"Don't you think I know that?" She hisses in return.

"I'm sure you do," Helen replies, evenly.

She stands up, giving Lindsay a final, cold stare, having got all the answers she wants. Her husband's ex-mistress puts her head in her hands, and though she thinks that maybe she should, Helen doesn't even feel a twinge of pity for the woman on the other side of the glass.

Without another word, Helen Dryden leaves.

...

_**Thank you for reading. Reviews would be lovely – the second part should be up soon, explaining how Lindsay feels after Helen's visit! **_


	2. 2 - Helen Dryden

_**Author's note – And here it chapter two! I hope you enjoy.**_

_**I like to thank everyone who reviewed chapter one, it's really encouraging to receive feedback and I love hearing what you think. **_

_**Also, I don't know much about prisons. This will probably become apparent as the story goes one. I have tried to research where needs be but the internet only gets you so far, so if there are any inaccuracies or mistakes I am sorry.**_

_**And finally, I have decided that Monday will be my update day from now on, so, see you next Monday! **_

_**DISCLAIMER**__** – I own nothing!**_

_Two – Helen Dryden _

She's tired and annoyed when she wakes up, a new day dawning. The early morning light is creeping in and she sighs and stretches out her muscles. Sitting up in bed, Lindsay wishes she is somewhere else – anywhere else – but here. She hates in here. Lindsay's been in here for three months now, every day the same, and every day ahead exactly the same again. Fifteen more years at least stretch out in front of her – every time she thinks that, it always almost gets too much for her.

The whole world around her seems to be slowly turning grey, slowly grinding to a halt. Before she ended up in this mess, in this prison, she was quite an active person. She liked going shopping and going to the gym, she liked eating in pubs and staying in hotels. Now, all she has is one drab cell and an empty exercise courtyard.

She's always been a quite solitary person, preferring her own company to that of others. That's not to say she didn't have friends – she did – but none she would trust her life with. No, she was never comfortable giving others her everything, scared of being burned. Maybe it was because of her father – her father who had walked out on his family when Lindsay was only three years old.

Now, all these years later, Lindsay doesn't remember a single damn thing about her father.

Maybe it is because of him that she has always been terrified of forming long lasting relationships. Or maybe it's something more basic, something wrong with her that means she cannot commit to anyone – a primitive reason why she cannot have a deep meaningful relationship with anyone bar her mother.

Except that that's not completely true, is it, she thinks to herself, wistfully. There was one person who she committed to, but with Lindsay being Lindsay; it couldn't be anything but dysfunctional. To be honest, describing it as dysfunctional is being kind. Her relationship – if you could even call it that, the secret meetings in hotels and the fleeting visits to her home – with Mike had been only time she had ever managed to connect with a human being on a more than basic level for a long time, and she'd allowed herself to dream, to imagine a future where she was, finally, happy.

But then he'd pulled the wool from her eyes and her entire world had burned beneath her feet, crashing down and splintering into a thousand tiny pieces. Mike hadn't just broken her heart – though he'd done that too – he'd destroyed her whole world with one word.

That one word had been 'no'.

Dwelling on her doomed affair makes her remember what came after, and she really doesn't want to go there. With a sadness that makes her heart ache, Lindsay puts her hand on her stomach and let's herself wonder what if. The moment is only fleeting, because it breaks her heart too much to think about it.

Lindsay was telling the truth – a rare occurrence, it seemed, after the ambush – when she'd told Steve it was the worst thing she'd ever done, and it would be for the rest of her life. It was worse than agreeing to Akers' plan, worse than driving Prasad into that wall with the car, worse than anything that had gone before and would come after.

Shaking her head and sighing heavily, Lindsay tries to drag her mind away from Mike, because, even a year after their affair ended, it still hurts to think about him and what he did to her. Five years it had lasted, and he hadn't given her a damned thing the entire time – she'd given him her all, she'd given everything. And for what? Nothing. Up until then, Lindsay had thought that she always got what she wanted, but Mike Dryden had proved her wrong.

He'd cast her away like she'd meant nothing to him. Which she must have, Lindsay concedes sadly. She was nothing to Mike and yet, for five years, he'd been her everything. She'd loved him. He'd become the first person in a long time that he'd let in, and he'd destroyed everything and left her with nothing. And for that, Lindsay hates him.

And she knows, with certainty, that the feeling is mutual.

Thinking about Mike makes her think about her only visitor: Helen Dryden, his wife. Lindsay doesn't want to dwell on that and yet she can't stop her mind drifting.

She sighs, remembering. It had been strange, meeting Mike's wife for the first time. She had been nothing like Lindsay had expected, and yet everything, all at the same time. Mike had never talked about his wife – it was like an unwritten rule between them, never mention Helen – and because of this, Helen Dryden had remained a shadow to Lindsay – albeit a shadow that hung over her every time she and Mike had met.

She wonders how it feels to be so detached from normal human emotions, like Helen had been, with her cold, impassive stares and icy tone, with her sharp tongue and harsh words. Lindsay wonders why Helen ever stayed with Mike after news of his affair hit the papers. Maybe it was because of love, – but, thinking back to her brief brush with the woman, she doesn't think Helen Dryden is capable of loving someone other than herself – maybe it was because of an obligation to stand by the husband who had always stood by her or maybe it was because Helen Dryden loved the money that her husband had provided her with.

The truth is, Lindsay doesn't know, and will never know what makes the woman who has everything that she once wanted tick.

After meeting her, with her cardboard smiles and icy words, Lindsay knows that she does not envy Helen Dryden anymore.

She swings her legs off the side of the bed and leans against the wall, resting her head in her hands. Lindsay always thought she was made of tough stuff, but now, prison is slowly wearing her down – just like it's meant to, she reasons. She wonders, shaking her head, how her life has ended up like this.

She's not a criminal. She caught criminals. She was a good guy.

She knows now that no one really is a good guy. There are just bad guys and slightly less bad guys.

There are some rare exceptions on that rule, Lindsay thinks to herself, and she thinks that maybe she met all the good guys when dealing with AC-12. It takes a special kind of cop to investigate other cops, and to Lindsay, they all were good people, just doing their job.

Hastings is honest, does his job, and catches all the right people. He isn't bad, he isn't corruptible. The only thing Lindsay could accuse him of is being a little loose with his finances, but compared to her that's nothing.

Then there's Steve. He never gave up – and Lindsay knows that his job means a lot to him, it does to everyone in AC-12. It's a tough job, but only the best get the gig, and Steve is the best. He played her good and proper – for the first time in a long time, Lindsay had thought she had a real friend, but in the back of her head, she knew that it was too good to be true, but she'd ignored her instinct, just wanting to have someone to talk to.

And maybe it was because, somewhere in her head, she wanted to be caught. It's not that she wanted to go to prison – no, not in a million years – it was just she couldn't live with guilt - it ate away at her every day, and if they hadn't caught her, slowly, she would have gone mad.

And finally there is Kate. Oh, Kate, who is much more like Lindsay than she ever could imagine. There are a few similarities, in character, in determination but the most glaring parallel is the fact that they both had unhappy affairs with married men. When she's sat across from Kate all those months ago and she'd confessed to her affair with Mike, for a second, she could see a kindred spirit on the other side of the glass.

But it was a kindred spirit who always got the job done, and getting the job done meant that Lindsay was spending fifteen years in prison.

She's not perfect – who is? – she has flaws. But she's not bad, not inside. Lindsay just wishes someone would believe her. She's not a bad person, not really - she is just a victim of circumstance. If Kate had been in her position, with a dying mother, a draining bank account, a car crash of an affair with a man who would have never loved her back however much she'd tried and an abortion that had nearly killed her to carry out behind her, Kate might have accepted Akers' offer, because the two of them, they're not that different.

Isn't reflection such a wonderful thing? Lindsay knows she shouldn't have taken up Akers' on her offer but she was doing it for a good reason. She needed the money and she needed to find Carly. It wasn't supposed to end up like it had. No one was supposed to die. And yet, everybody but her did.

And she only survived to get the blame pinned squarely on her. She knows what she did was wrong, can see so clearly, but she was in a bad place – she knows that it doesn't excuse what she did, but she hopes it explains it.

She puts her head in her hands again, wanting to curl up in a ball and scream at the world to go away but she knows it won't work. She will not fall to pieces, she is Lindsay Denton and she doesn't fall apart.

Here she is, shivering in the early morning chill in a prison cell, with a heart full to bursting with regrets and a mind full of things she'll never say. And why? Because she was stupid, so utterly stupid, and turned her comparatively simple life into a complicated disarray of problems and trouble, all mounting up on her until she could no longer cope.

She remembers the first thought that hit her after the judge read out her sentence – _well, there goes my happy ending _- and thinks how true it is, how apt. She will never get married now, she concedes, she will never have children. She's unwanted by everyone, shunned by society and ostracized to the furthest degree because she made a few mistakes. Doesn't everyone make mistakes?

She just wishes that someone who knows how it feels to have their heart broken would tell her that it gets easier, that it won't always hurt this much, that one day, all this heartache will be gone. But no one will, no one ever will, because maybe it won't go away, maybe she'll always feel empty inside. Maybe she'll always wake up in the middle of the night, Mike's face burned into the back of her mind and his name dying on her lips. Maybe this is what she gets for sleeping with another woman's husband. Maybe she's always destined to live like this, with her heart aching in her chest for the only love she's ever known, begging for Mike and begging for her mother, but knowing they won't come, can't ever come.

She doesn't know. Only time will tell. And oh yes, she has a lot of that. In here, there's plenty of time.

Damn, she should stop being so melancholy. What's the point in dwelling on the past? What's the point? She's tough, she doesn't break down.

Except she does. But she always does it when no one's looking, when she can cry all alone for her mistakes.

A loud knock sounds and then comes the barked command to move away for the door. Lindsay wants to yell at them that nobody's home, that there's no one here, to go away and stop bothering her.

But she doesn't, and the door swings open.

...

_**Any bets who the next visitor will be? **_

_**Thanks for reading.**_


	3. 1 - Steve Arnott

_**Author's Note – Well, this isn't Monday... I'm going on holiday tonight to somewhere that doesn't have any internet. This sadly means that for two weeks I can't update – but it does mean you get this chapter early! **_

_**I promise that the next chapter will be put up the day I get back!**_

_**Oh, and thanks for all the lovely reviews, I really appreciate them.**_

_**Once again, sorry for the delay, but I do hope you enjoy this chapter.**_

_**DICLAIMER**__** – I own nothing!  
**_

_One – Steve Arnott_

She's still not here, Steve notes, glancing at the clock on the wall as another minute flicks past and Lindsay Denton doesn't appear. He rests his hands, unsure what to do with them, on the notebook sitting in front of him. He can feel the prison officer's eyes on him, and feels self-conscious sitting here alone, waiting and waiting. It's been twenty minutes now and Steve wonders what it could be that is holding her up so much. It's not like there's much to do in a prison, is there?

Finally, after another five minutes have passed, Lindsay appears and takes her seat opposite him, looking every inch as uncomfortable as him, wearing her grey prison issue clothes and a troubled look. He very nearly shakes his head, unable to reconcile the woman across from him to the confident copper his first met nearly nine months ago now.

Her hair is swept up into a hasty ponytail, her face pale and her eyes tired. She can see him watching her, judging her, and she snaps, "What do you want?" The accusation is clear to here in her voice.

He clears his throat. "How are you feeling?"

"Don't act like you give a damn about my feelings," Lindsay hits back in reply. So much for trying to be the nice guy. "What do you want?" She repeats, clasping her hands in front of her.

"Are you aware that information relating to you has been leaked to the newspapers?" Steven asks, trying to tread carefully, not knowing how Lindsay will respond. Her eyes flick away from his face, and Steve frowns. "About your affair with Dryden?" Lindsay's eyes are still not focusing on him, darting around the room.

"Yes." The one word reply comes after a long moment of silence and it surprises Steve.

"But the warden says you aren't subscribed to any newspapers," Steve asks, confused.

Lindsay doesn't enlighten him, at least not for a few minutes, smoothing down her baggy top and running a hand through her hair, before replying. "You're too late." Steve frowns again. "I had a visitor."

Steve ponders her answer, searching for who the visitor could be. As far as he knows, Lindsay was close to no one and Steve is certain that Dryden wouldn't visit her. He drops it, knowing Lindsay probably won't tell him anyway even if he did ask. "And what did your visitor tell you?"

"That there was stuff in the papers about me and Mike," Lindsay says, her eyes finally returning to Steve's face, and looking at her features, Steve can see vulnerability playing across them. It's only for a second, but Steve sees it.

He's reminded of that night at her house, the night he finally saw underneath the facade and saw the real Lindsay Denton. Her face had looked the same, talking about her baby, about the abortion, about Dryden – about her demons. Unable to hold her hard gaze, it's Steve's turn to look away.

"Did you leak it to the papers?"

Lindsay's question is such a blot from the blue that Steve's head snaps up so quickly his neck clicks, his eyes wide open in surprise. She's staring back at him through the glass; the vulnerable look vanished from her face, instead replaced by a sort of coldness, a sense of disconnectedness from the world around her. "Well, Steve, did you?"

He regains his composure, clearing his throat for the second time in the short meeting. "Leak what?"

"Information about my affair with Dryden. About the abortion." If Steve hadn't been looking out for it, he would have missed the slight waver of Lindsay's tone on the word 'abortion'. It's only slight, but it reminds him that woman on the other side of the glass is a real person just like him, not a robot; that she hurts, is fallible and flawed, that she's human and therefore makes human mistakes.

"And what use would I have for that?"

"I don't know. Money? Revenge?" Steve frowns, as Lindsay leans forward in her chair, resting her head in her hands, staring at him with curiosity from behind the glass. "Ah, revenge." She lingers on the one word, and Steve watches Lindsay through the glass carefully as she weighs up her next words. "The actions you think I carried out led to the death of your colleague. Revenge. An eye for an eye and all that..." He feels like he's under a microscope with Lindsay looking at him with such vested interest. "Georgia, wasn't she called?"

Steve feels anger well up in him. "Don't, Lindsay," he near enough hisses. Lindsay senses his anger and, wisely, doesn't continue in the same vein of conversation.

"Why are you here?" It's a question he's been asking himself a lot this morning. Steve's not quite sure, if he's being perfectly honest. He's tried to tell himself that he is here because of his job, his here to do his duty and then he can leave – but he knows it's not true. He's not here just to inform Lindsay about the new details that have emerged as the months wear on. Steve's here because Lindsay interests him. He can't deny it. The woman on the other side of the glass fascinates him and he's not sure why. He puts the thought out of his head, it troubling him slightly.

"There's been a reported sighting of Carly Kirk." Lindsay looks up at him, her eyes searching his face for a clue to the information he knows.

"Where?"

He flicks open his note book and reads his notes slowly, knowing Lindsay is watching him with hawk-like intensity. "A fisherman called Daniel Addams spotted a young woman who fitted the description of Carly Kirk in a town called Kilkee on the west coast of Ireland."

"What description of Carly?" Lindsay asks, and Steve, unsure of quite what she's asking, stares back down at his notebook. "What I mean is, how did a fisherman is Ireland know what Carly Kirk looked like."

"A series of newspaper articles have been released focusing on long-time mispers."

"Carly isn't a long-term misper," Lindsay replies, confusion easy to pick out of her tone. "She's only been missing, what, seven months? That's not even a year. That's not long term." Lindsay continues, her tone still full of bewilderment.

"It was decided to include Carly Kirk in the articles even though she is not what would be classified as a 'long-term' misper."

"Who by? Why?" Steve doesn't answer. He doesn't know why Carly was included, but he thinks it's due to Dryden and Lindsay's involvement and the fact that the press love a good scandal and, for some reason, Steve doesn't want to tell her this.

Neither of them say a word for a good few minutes, but Steve speaks up, asking a question he's wanted to know the answer to for a while now. "Why do you care so much?"

"About what?"

"Carly Kirk." It's something that's been troubling him ever since Carly Kirk was first mentioned to him – why does Lindsay care so much about a fifteen year old probable runaway?

"I don't know," she replies, shaking her head and staring down at her lap, sighing. "I really don't know." Steve can feel that there's more that she wants to say, but because she's Lindsay, she keeps her cards close to her chest and adds nothing. "So this means she's not dead?"

"We're, uh, not sure," Steve replies, helpfully. "The police over there searched the area but couldn't find her. The fisherman, Daniel Addams, he's convinced it was Carly."

"So, basically, you're back to square one?" Steve shakes his head, closing his notebook and studying Lindsay's face through the glass. She looks slightly annoyed, but her eyes are much more alert now than they were when she arrived.

"No," Steve replies, emphatically. "Because of this, the focus of the investigation into Carly's disappearance has shifted. They're looking at it like she ran away – not that she was abducted. They no longer think she's dead, Lindsay, they think that she's out there."

Lindsay doesn't say a word in reply for a long moment, pausing and considering her next move. "What you're telling me is Mike's no longer a suspect - and as an extension of that, or possibly in my own right, me." Lindsay's tone is quiet, but the quietness is deceptive, her voice is forceful and Steve can hear traces of anger, too.

"You were never a suspect in Carly Kirk's disappearance-"

"Oh, don't play stupid with me, Steve. I was a copper too, you know. If I'd been in your shoes, Mike and I would have been the lead suspects in Carly's disappearance. You know Mike was there, and you thought I was, too." Steve looks back at her, a frown forming on his face again. "Kate told me," she informs him in reply to his frown, shrugging. "So don't try to kid me," Lindsay looks at him with such an impassive, cold stare that he can't help but look away. "I can play all your games better than you can."

They slip into silence, Lindsay's final sentence reverberating around the room.

"We are going to continue doing all we can to find Carly Kirk." He pulls his notebook off the table and stands up, glancing one last time at Lindsay, still staring at him from behind the glass.

He's about to leave, his back turned away, when Lindsay addresses him for the last time. "Who are you to judge me? You don't know me."

The words echo those she said to him and Kate when they arrested her for the second time all those months ago now. They hit him hard because they're the truth. As much as he thinks he does, Steve doesn't know Lindsay Denton at all.

He sighs and carries on walking out of there - out to the sunshine and fresh air, knowing he's going somewhere Lindsay won't go for a long time now.

...

_**So Steve came to visit her then...? Was it who you expected? How do think Lindsay will react to the knowledge that Carly might not be dead? **_

_**Ooh, all these questions...**_

_**Thanks for reading and I hope you liked it. Please review – it'd make my day.**_

_**And remember, I won't be updating for two weeks. Sorry!**_


	4. 2 - Steve Arnott

**_a/n - Well, I'm back from my holiday and you can finally read the second chapter of Steve's visit. I hope you like it!_**

_Two – Steve Arnott_

She's been sitting, staring at the wall opposite her, listening to the chorus of insults that are being aimed at her through the prison walls, for a good half an hour now. The prison officers will do nothing about it, they never do. Prison officers don't like bent coppers either. No one does.

Lindsay curls up in a ball on her bed, screwing her eyes tight shut, trying to zone out of the yelling and the cursing, trying to ignore it. It's too hard and she snaps, springing up and launching onto her feet. She's about to pound her fist on the wall in reply, ready to yell anything she can think of back, ready to give them a taste of their own medicine, when she stops short. It won't do any good. Fighting back won't do anything.

She lets her fist trail down the rough wall, her skin grazing and scratching as it gets further down and she presses her hand harder. When she takes her fist away to look at it, the skin is scraped and bleeding slightly. The sight of the blood surprises her, making her actually consider what she has just done. She wipes the blood away and crosses the room back to the bed, her hand stinging and she feels so stupid for doing it do herself.

She is just so tired of this place and the yelling and the days that all seem to merge into one. Lindsay wants so much to sleep in her own bed, – even if she hated that dank little place she only bought out of necessity – she wants she breathe fresh air and walk in the park watching the ducks, she wants to have a life that's going somewhere, not a life that's stuttering and starting and falling apart as she watches.

She sighs again, slumping to ground next to the bed, with its itchy blankets and impersonal sheets that smell so strongly of _prison_ that she can barely fall asleep at night. Lindsay never thought she'd end up in prison, least of all with a life sentence drifting out in front of her. Fifteen years. What can you do in fifteen years? She could have met someone, had the wedding she had always dreamed of as a child, had a baby, flesh and blood who would love her no matter what.

In this dream universe, in fifteen years, she would be happy, with a husband who loved her and she loved back, with one or two children who looked up to their mummy with wide-eyed pride and joy. She'd be coming up to her retirement from the police, from the job she loved dearly, looking forward to a retirement where she might take up gardening or learn to knit.

No, instead, she's spending the next decade and a half– or fourteen years and three months, as it is now – in an cramped, small room, every night having to endure the yells and cries of insults coming through the walls. She's never going to get married, have kids; she's never going to get to retire. She could have. If only she'd-

Lindsay stops her thoughts in their tracks. What's the point of imagining what could have been? She blew it and it will never happen. She can't live in the past or in some pretend future, she has to live in the now – the now she had engineered.

She sighs, her mind turning to what Steve told her the day before. Carly isn't dead or at least it's looking that way. She feels so happy that somewhere out there, Carly may be safe and happy, with a bright future ahead of her. The young girl she met in that bathroom, the girl who told her that her necklace looked pretty, is out there somewhere, alive, thriving.

Lindsay thinks about that meeting, about Carly - an abandoned girl, whose mother never gave her anything, had complemented a lonely, childless woman and had unintentionally set into motion a chain of events that had led to this very moment, to Lindsay sitting in a dark cell, contemplating the future of girl she's never had a proper conversation with.

Lindsay thinks back to the question Steve had levelled at her during their meeting. Why does she care so much about Carly Kirk? She sighs.

When you're dealing with missing persons, sometimes, you just feel a connection. Sometimes it's an old granny with Alzheimer's who wandered off on the walk to the shops, or it could be a kid, like Carly, who's run away or been taken by a monster. Sometimes, you just can't ignore them, when their faces stare up at you from the pages - so many of them, so many missing people - and one just jumps out at you and you just can't turn past their file without imagining where they are or what's happening to them, if their scared and alone or perfectly happy not being found. Sometimes you just can't let go of a stranger you've never met. They're not machines. She's not a machine. She feels things.

Lindsay finds it odd that she's repeating words said to her by Kate Fleming. Kate had told her that they're not machines - that they're allowed to feel things - that day at the train station, her last proper day of freedom before she was returned to custody. But she'd been speaking the truth. People aren't machines. They feel and they can't stop feeling when they want. You can't just switch them off – Lindsay knows firsthand, she's tried time and time again. It's part of the human condition to feel and to make mistakes.

If everyone was perfect, never putting a foot out of line, where would that leave us, Lindsay thinks to herself. How would we be different from robots, unfeeling, unmoveable robots? How would we learn? How would we get better at the things that life throws at us if we never made a misstep?

People are only human, and humans do things that are wrong.

Lindsay's only human and she did something that was wrong.

She sighs again and leans her head back on the metal bar at the bottom of the bed. She thinks about Steve again. Lindsay remembers his face when she mentioned Georgia, the officer who died. She could see the anger written all over his features, something that had surprised her. From what she gathered, Georgia had only been a recent addition to the AC-12 team, so it must have been her first case - and her last...

She'd been so young, Lindsay remembers, sadly. She'd only met the other woman once and Georgia had seemed...nice.

It had been such a waste of a life. Such a waste...

Once again, Lindsay wonders why Steve came to visit her yesterday. It wasn't because he wanted to tell her about Carly, because what right or reason does she have for discovering what happened to her? She is nothing to Carly Kirk and if they were to meet again, the girl wouldn't even blink, but Lindsay would stare at her, because even though she means nothing to Carly, the opposite is true to Lindsay. Carly means something to her. Carly is one of the reasons she's here. If she and Carly hadn't crossed paths, then Lindsay wouldn't have ever heard the name Jayne Akers.

And she wouldn't be in prison.

But she is.

Her mind turns back to Steve. Why did he come? Lindsay doesn't know and she doesn't think she'll ever know. Maybe it was a sense of guilt? No, that doesn't make sense. Steve thought she was guilty, so why would he feel culpable for putting the bad guy in prison? She sighs again, her mind starting to go into overdrive, about Steve, about Helen Dryden and about Carly Kirk.

But before she can blink, Lindsay is fast asleep.

...

**_Please review!_**


	5. 1 - Mike Dryden

_**a/n It's time for the big one. Mike Dryden is coming to visit Lindsay.**_

_**Thanks for all your kind reviews; it really helps to know people like my story. I hope you like this chapter too. **_

_One – Mike Dryden_

He's been sitting in his car for a long ten minutes now, glad that he chose to arrive early so that he could have these precious moments to himself before he goes in. Because he will go in - even if he doesn't really want to. He's made it all this way and there's no turning back now. He's going to see her.

Finally snapping into action, Mike opens the car door and steps out into the blustery autumn day. He wraps his coat tighter around his body, watching the leaves fall from the trees and gracefully ark towards the ground. He starts crossing the car park, the crisp leaves under foot crunching as he walks over them.

Mike arrives at the entrance and goes in, wondering if he's mad. Why would he turn up if he isn't mad? He knows what made him come today. It was that article in the newspaper about women who had been sentenced to life in prison. Right on the last page, in a small box in the left hand corner, Lindsay Denton had looked up at him, her face impassive. The piece about her hadn't told her anything he didn't know, but yet, he'd stared at her face for a long time after reading it, captivated. He was mentioned in the article and that was when he realised that for as long as Lindsay Denton and himself remained in the public eye, he would always be known as the ex-DCC who the affair with the one who got life for conspiracy for murder.

And he hates it.

He misses his job terribly, though he knows he had no choice but to resign. Mike had made one too many mistake to remain in the position, and, to be perfectly honest, he's glad he resign before he was forced out – and before the scandal about his affair with Lindsay broke. But it wasn't just the story about his affair that tainted him, painted him like the bad guy.

No, the article about the abortion had destroyed what little reputation and standing that he had managed to cling on to. Now, the former Deputy Chief Constable is working night shifts for a local private security company, which had been his last choice, but they were the only one that would touch him with a barge pole. The pay was bad, the hours strange and unfathomable and the job itself dreadfully tedious and boring.

He guesses it's what he gets.

Soon, without quite computing it, Mike finds himself passing through a metal detector. It doesn't go off and he is waved through. He enters a room full of chairs, and, behind a sheet of glass, another set of chairs. This is where he's going to see Lindsay face-to-face for the first time in a long time.

Mike glances at the clock and realises, to his immense surprise, he's already spent half an hour moving through the security checks. He must have passed through them on auto-pilot. He tries to think back to what has happened to him over the last half an hour and realises he only has a hazy recollection. Mike must have been too caught up in his thoughts to notice what was going on around him.

He sighs and picks a chair out the line of six. Only one of the other five is occupied, the one on the far left. Mike picks the furthest chair to the right.

He only has to wait a few minutes until the door at the back of the room behind the glass swings open and Lindsay appears. Mike searches for some look of recognition on her face as she is ushered in, but he sees nothing. Her face is as blank as a clean slate. She sits down in the chair across for him, and for the second time today, Mike wonders if he's insane. What the hell is he doing here?

And most of all, why would Lindsay agree to see him? The last time he checked, she hated him.

"Hello, Lindsay," he starts, gently, unsure about what the two of them have to talk about. He doesn't even know why he's here. He has nothing to say to her, not really, but this completely clashes with the fact it is at his instigation they are here. He keeps telling himself that he's only here to put his demons to rest, to put Lindsay Denton behind him once and for all. Except, sitting across from Lindsay and her piecing cold gaze, he's not sure that it's the whole truth.

"Why?" She replies, simply. "Why are you here?" Lindsay sounds angry and defensive and they're not even a minute into the conversation.

"I'm, uh, not sure."

She shakes her head at his words. "If you're not sure why did you come?" Lindsay hits back and Mike shrugs.

"I wanted to see-"

"Don't say it." she cuts in, before he can finish. "Don't say you wanted to see how I am. You don't, Mike. You never gave a damn so why should now be any different?" Her voice is low and full of barely concealed rage.

"Maybe I shouldn't have come," Mike says, contemptuously, getting to his feet and moving to leave.

Before he can, Lindsay calls after him.

"Stay."

The one word takes him by surprise. Mike turns back to face her, but Lindsay's not looking at him, her head is in her hands and she looks so crushed, so alone, that, against his better judgement, he retakes his seat.

After a few seconds of tense silence, Lindsay looks up from her hands, leaning back in her chair. Mike allows himself a few moments to study her face. She looks so different to the woman he first met six years ago now. Her eyes are tired and defeated and her cheeks are pale. But seeping through are faint traces of the Lindsay he used to know. Her blazing temper is the same as it used to be. Somewhere in there, is the Lindsay she used to be, the Lindsay he knew – or as it turned out, didn't really know at all.

"You see that woman over there?" Lindsay's jerks her thumb in the direction of the only other occupants of the room. One is a man – on Mike's side of the glass – and the other is a woman – on Lindsay's – whom he focuses on. She looks just as tired as Lindsay, maybe even more, and has the same hunched shoulders and defeated air. "She's a former copper like me." Mike's eyes turn back to Lindsay as she speaks. "Have you wondered why this rooms so empty, Mike?" If he's being honest, no, he hasn't given it any thought. He wonders where she's going with this, but he doesn't interrupt because they seem to be talking without yelling, something he thought would never happen. "It's because this is the visitor's room for the vulnerable prisoners." He looks away, understanding what she's telling him. He never thought in his life he'd ever hear Lindsay Denton called vulnerable. "They don't like bent coppers in here." The comment is offhand, just throw away -added without much thought - but Mike can hear the pain in her voice.

Mike can feel Lindsay's beseeching gaze on him, but his eyes are fixed on his hands, laid out in front of him on the desk. "You lied to me," Her voice is quiet, nearly a whisper, when she talks.

"Not this again."

"Why not?" Lindsay replies, indignantly. "You _promised _me, Mike." The sadness, the desperateness in her tone is not, he can tell, because he didn't leave his wife. Mike knows that Lindsay is no fool and that somewhere in the back of her head she knew he'd never leave Helen. No, the anger and sadness directed at him is because he promised her - he didn't have to promise her, he could have dodged the question or told the truth and she would have understood – but Mike made a promise to her that he was never going to keep and that's what hurt Lindsay the most.

It was the failed promise that had broken her. It's a thought he doesn't want to dwell on as he feels Lindsay staring at him, waiting for him to reply. Her gaze irritates him – every time she looks at him, he feels bare and exposed, as if she can see all his deepest, darkest secrets. He knows he's being silly, but he still shivers, before snapping at her, "Okay, I lied to you." Mike and Lindsay have had this conversation several times before and he's tired of it - tired of going over all the same stuff when it always comes back to the same point. He will never leave his wife. "Does that make it better?" Lindsay goes quiet, and Mike can tell his words have hurt her, but he doesn't care, not really. This particular topic is worn-out, gone over so many times he's forgotten how many exactly. "Why can't you just get over it? It was just a bit of fun, Lindsay. It never meant anything." His words are flippant and fuelled by annoyance. It's not the only time he's told her it meant nothing – but it's the first time he's said it to her face and stayed to watch her reaction.

Lindsay's eyes flick up and she stares at him, the disdain easy to see written all over her features. "Not to me." Her voice is dangerously low now, as Mike watches her face as she sets her jaw, anger plain to see in her eyes. He realises his words were misjudged but he can't take them back, not now. "NOT TO ME!"

Mike sits in his chair, stunned, as the minutes tick past. He's never seen her so angry before – and that's saying something. Mike's seen Lindsay full of rage before, but never this infuriated. She's spitting blood and she wants him to know. "I loved you," she continues, still irate. "and you're just a good-for-nothing heartless bastard."

It's not the first time Lindsay has said she loved him, but it's the first time he properly believes it. Her words hurt him and he's not sure why. Over the last year or so, his reputation has been pulled through the mud and he's been reduced to nothing, and yet this, this is the thing that brings him to his metaphorical knees.

With Lindsay's words still ringing in his ears, he stands up. He feels like a puppet on a string, his limbs out of his control. Mike feels like he's been slapped in the face, as he finally sees his own place in the downfall of Lindsay Denton.

He was the beginning.

And he might well be the end too.

...

_**So, how do you think Lindsay will react to Mike's visit? Please review!**_


	6. 2 - Mike Dryden

_**a/n So here is part two of Mike Dryden's visit to Lindsay. How will she react? **_

_**Thanks for all the lovely review, they really make my day!**_

_Two – Mike Dryden _

Lindsay watches him walk away with a resigned look on her face. Soon, he's long gone and she's being ordered to stand up and follow the prison officers. As they start their way through the maze of corridors back to her cell, she can feel her anger falling away. With Mike gone, she allows herself to relax, her taut muscles loosing up. He was always able to elicit emotions from her like no one else could – be it anger or passion.

They arrive at her cell and the officers swing the door open as Lindsay watches mutely. Another snapped command and she's left alone. Lindsay sits down heavily in the plastic chair, sighing. Her anger might have just disappeared, but she can feel it starting to boil in her veins again, as she remembers his words.

It wasn't the first time that Mike had told her that their entire relationship had been worthless and yet, his dismissive words had hit her right in the heart. Lindsay would be stupid if she said that she thought her relationship with Mike had been anything important to him – he'd made it very clear to her several times that it meant nothing to him – but what Mike hasn't seemed to grasp is that even if it meant nothing to him, it did mean something to her. The whole way he had dealt with the matter – with short, curt phone calls demanding she get over it and leave him alone – had not been designed with her feelings in mind, Lindsay knows. After their affair had ended – when he hadn't left his wife like he had promised he would – all she was to him was an inconvenience.

But she just happened to be an inconvenience that was pregnant with his child.

He didn't want kids, Lindsay knew that, but she thought it would make him reconsider, make him change his mind. It hadn't – he just denied it was his baby, when they both knew that it was. Lindsay thinks that was the hardest part to swallow. She had gone to his office a week after she'd discovered she was pregnant and she'd told him.

Mike had looked at her with a glare of such contempt that she knew her news was not going to change a thing between them. Lindsay can remember his harsh words; can feel them echoing in her head even now. He'd cut her hopes down before she'd even dared to think them, broken promises before they were even made. He'd broken her heart for the second time before she could even blink.

At least she hadn't cried.

No, Lindsay didn't cry.

At least not over Mike Dryden. Not anymore.

She'd considered keeping the baby – Lindsay had always wanted to be a mother – but when she'd gone home to her cold, empty, loveless home, she'd known she couldn't have done it.

However much she'd wanted to have her child, she knew it would never happen. Mike would have made sure of that. And anyway, if she had gone through with it, her child would always have had a father who didn't give a damn and Lindsay knows that's one of the worst things you can do to a child - bring it into a world where there's not enough love to go round.

Lindsay sighs heavily, her shoulders sagging and she pulls her knees up to her chest, hugging them to her – needing the comfort. Seeing Mike has brought back a lot of memories, most of them bad – but some of them good.

Before the screaming and the yelling and the cold shoulders, there was something between them. Their affair wouldn't have lasted five long years if it had been based on nothing. No matter what Mike may say and act like now there was a time where, as much as he hated it, he cared about her. She knows him, probably better than everybody – better than his wife, she would bet. Lindsay knows things about him that he's never told another soul. It wasn't just one way; it wasn't just Lindsay who loved _him –_ she's sure of this.

And now it's not one way either – it's not just Lindsay who hates him.

She can see it in his eyes every time she looks into them. It's there and obvious too, burning bright – the hate, simple and clear to see, as plain as day, reflected back at her.

She stretches out her legs, trying to get some life back into them before pins and needles set in and she gets even more uncomfortable than she already is. Lindsay picks the chair up and turns it so that it's facing the table. She reaches out and flicks on the on switch, setting her fingers on the keys, preparing to play, but her fingers won't hit the keys, won't play the notes.

It's because Mike always liked it when she played the piano.

Angrily, she slams the palms of her hands down on the piano keyboard. Instantly she regrets it. This keyboard is the product of months of good behaviour and bargaining and - Lindsay is sure – someone whispering good words into the ears of the all the right people. She thinks it's Steve – she remembers Kate saying to her once that if she wanted a piano keyboard, then they could do that, and Steve is the only person she could think of who could – only could – do that. Lindsay doesn't think he would but there's no one else. Maybe she just earned the keyboard on her own merit. Whatever happened, she doesn't think she'll ever know.

When she discovered that a piano keyboard was available for two pounds a week, Lindsay had jumped at the chance. Her hard-earned money is sitting in a bank account, just sitting, doing nothing – though, admittedly, after her mother had to go into the care home, there isn't much left. It'll be fourteen years before she'll get to spend what is left in earnest, so she decided that two pounds a week is worth it, for something she loves more than anything in the world: a piano, or as close to one as she's allowed, locked up in here.

Lindsay's always loved pianos, ever since her mother taught her how to play when she was six years old. Her mum had a grand piano, given to her by her own mother – and it was her prized possession. Ever since she had been small, Lindsay had been fascinated by the shiny polished wood and the gleaming keys and finally, on her sixth birthday, her mother had caved in and allowed her to play it.

To start with, she was dreadful, but little Lindsay was never happy with being dreadful at something she loved so dearly. She'd spend her days, cooped up at the piano, mastering the keys, all on her own – because, as her mother repeatedly told her, they didn't have the money for lessons. The first time she'd played for her mother, a year after she'd started learning, they'd both cried. Her mother had told her that day that she played the piano beautifully.

Now, more than thirty years later, her mother's words ring in her ears. The piece she had played had been In a Landscape, by John Cage – her mother's favourite piece. It might have taken her a year to learn it, but now, all these years later, every time Lindsay puts her hands on the keys, she has to stop herself playing that piece. It was her mother's favourite, and now, it's Lindsay's too.

Sighing, her mind drifts back to Mike. In her mind, he's regarded with a mass of contradictions and it makes her head hurt thinking about it.

He's the only man she's ever really loved and yet he's the man she hates the most in the entire world.

If only things could be simple. If only Mike could be one of those things, the love of her life or the single object of all her hate. Not both. Why did he have to be both? Lindsay groans and leans her face against the cold metal of the table.

She wonders if he views her with such confusion - if he cares about her and detests her all at the same time. For some reason, Lindsay thinks it's much more black and white for Mike. But then again, if he hates her why did he come today? Something about her must still hold some mystery or some contradiction in his mind or why else would he give up his Monday afternoon to visit her?

Lindsay sighs again and sits up straight in her chair, tiredness creeping up on her. It can only be half four at the latest and yet, Lindsay has no energy left, no strength. And anyway, there's nothing else for her to do today. She completed her compulsory exercise before her meeting with Mike and she only works three days a week carrying out the laundry for the wing and today isn't one of them. Because Lindsay is a vulnerable prisoner, the only time she's allowed out of her cell is exercise, to work or for visits like the one with Mike.

She crosses to the bed and lies flat, pulling the blanket over her. After a while, tossing and turning without sleep falling, she reaches out and pulls a book towards her. A small pile of three or so books are sitting under her bed. Lindsay has read all of them many times but she's only allowed to the library once a month, so she's stuck with them for the considerable future.

Lindsay flicks through the pages, trying to immerse herself into the fictional world of David Copperfield, but she fails and after the minutes tick by and she's just skimming over the words, not really taking any of it in, she slips the book back under her bed.

Lindsay, tired and alone, curls up in a ball on the bed and this time, after a few minutes, the warm embrace of sleep greets her.

...

_**Hope you liked it! Any guesses for who the next visitor will be? **_


	7. 1 - Kate Fleming

**_a/n Here's the next chapter! I hope you like it! :)_**

_One – Kate Fleming_

Lindsay Denton is staring at her. It's not the first time but it really unsettles as she takes the seat opposite her. With her handbag by her feet and her notebook sitting in front of her, Kate leans back in her chair and studies the woman across from her. She looks better than the last time Kate saw her in prison – back before she was tried and sentenced to life, with her hands wrapped in bandages and looking exhausted and crushed. Now, two years later, Lindsay is staring back at her with an intensity that Kate had thought was lost when she had been arrested. She looks well rested and alert, but there's something about the other woman that tells Kate that she's weary and worn-out - though, if Kate was in her situation, she guesses she would be too.

For a few tense moments neither woman speak, not knowing what to say, before Lindsay speaks up. "DC Fleming. This is a surprise." Her tone is genial but there's something forced about it, something fake. For a moment, Kate wonders how many people in the two years Lindsay's been here have sat in this seat across from her. Steve is one, but apart from that, Kate isn't certain that anyone else has visited her. Lindsay must feel so alone. Kate quashes the pity that rises up in her at this thought.

"Well, it was all a little last minute," she admits, truthfully, in reply.

"Are you here on police business or because you fancied visiting the one of the poor sods you've slammed up in here?" Lindsay asks, mockingly, after a moment.

Kate clears her throat, flicking her notebook and glancing down at the scrawl of annotations written there. "A forty-year old man has been arrested in connection with the ambush on the night of the 5th September 2013." Lindsay leans forward in her chair as Kate finishes her words.

"Who?"

"I'm not at-"

"Oh come on, Kate. If that's all you could tell be then you wouldn't be here." Avoiding Lindsay's gaze, Kate stares down at the notebook, realising for certain that Lindsay does not know who the man is. It means that Lindsay couldn't have known as much as Kate had suspected – Jayne Akers had known the identity of the man, they are pretty sure, and if Lindsay was just as involved as Jayne, she would have known names. Maybe it was this – not knowing names – was what saved Lindsay from death and condemned Jayne – and this theory, applies whether she was involved in the ambush or not. "Who is he?"

"Evidence that has come to light recently points to this guy being the middle man between Akers and the criminal gang," Kate informs her after a pause, knowing full well she is dodging the question. Lindsay sits back in her seat, eying her with a look that she can't quite name. The stare is cold and alert, beseeching Kate to tell her the identity of the man who was arrested. She knows the reason she is reluctant to tell Lindsay; it's embarrassing to admit that the middle man was one of them, someone who they came to trust.

Kate stares down at her notebook, her eyes glazing over and the words unfocusing the longer she looks. Lindsay still doesn't look away, and after a moment, it all becomes too much and Kate snaps, lifting her gaze so that she's staring right back at Lindsay. "The man arrested was Detective Inspector Matthew Cottan."

"Cottan...Cottan. I know that name. Did he work in Vice like Prasad and...?" Lindsay doesn't finish her sentence, the recognition lighting up her face. "He worked in AC-12, didn't he?" From the other woman's tone, Kate fully expects her to start smiling like the Cheshire Cat. "He was the middle man?"

"It's looking that way." Lindsay nods, looking with attentive eyes through the glass, her whole body tensed.

"What's he said?" Kate knows why Lindsay is so on edge. She wants to know if anything Cottan has said has exonerated her.

"Nothing."

"He's said nothing?" Lindsay sounds confused. "He's managed to fool you for two years - if he didn't confess how did you get him?"

"We might not have '_got him_'," she answers, after a short pause. "I just said we have arrested him in connection with the ambush."

"You must have some evidence, then?"

"Yes." Lindsay looks at her, imploring her to tell her what the evidence is – in case it puts her in the clear. Kate keeps her mouth shut, knowing she can't tell Lindsay what evidence they have and that she won't, even if Lindsay begs her to – not that Kate can imagine her begging. It doesn't help Lindsay anyway. Kate's not sure anything can help her now.

Soon, Lindsay realises that she's not going to find out what the evidence is and she sits back in her chair. "Are you sure it's him?"

Kate nods vigorously. She's certain that Dot Cottan is the middle man, the person who gave the order for the ambush - the person who ordered that Lindsay be spared.

What Kate doesn't know is whether Lindsay was spared because she was part of the ambush set up – but Jayne was and she wasn't spared – or if she wasn't killed so she could be the scapegoat. Kate sighs – she's gone through this many times and she still has no clue which way it fell. Her personal opinion is that in some way or another, Lindsay Denton is guilty.

Sitting across from Lindsay, Kate – not for the first time – wishes that Steve was the one in her shoes. Steve was supposed to be here too, but he was needed in the questioning of Dot, so Kate had to step up and complete this meeting herself. If she's being honest, it's only out of personal courtesy that she's here in the first place. AC-12 didn't need to inform Lindsay about Dot's arrest, not until it directly impacted Lindsay's conviction and at the moment, the evidence they have does not do that. As time goes on, hopefully Dot will tell them the truth about what happened that fateful night two years ago – or Lindsay might, now that he's been arrested. Steve had been the one to convince Hastings to let them come and tell Lindsay – he'd said that they might get Lindsay to spill the truth about her involvement, if there was a threat that Dot might get there first.

If Lindsay was involved at all.

Both Steve and Kate think that she was involved in some sort of capacity, but both are unsure of quite how much she was in on.

Sitting across from her, with her attentive eyes and hard gaze, once again, Kate finds herself re-evaluating all she knows about Lindsay Denton. Kate remembers how Lindsay was at the train station, just before she was returned to custody. She remembers the look on the other woman's face, how close to breaking point she was, how close to spilling her guts. Something happened at that train station and Kate just wishes she knew what it was.

Is Lindsay the stalker of an ex-girlfriend Dryden depicted who was up to her neck in it over the ambush or a misunderstood, vulnerable woman for which everything went wrong?

The truth is Kate doesn't think she'll ever know.

"What's happening about Cottan?" Lindsay asks, quietly, breaking the long silent lull in the conversation.

"He's being questioned. Whether or not he confesses, the evidence will be sent to the CPS and they'll decide what charges he'll face. It'll probably be conspiracy to murder - I'm pretty sure if it goes to trial, he'll get life," Kate informs her, looking up from her notebook.

Lindsay nods, clasping her hands in front of her. "You didn't need to come and tell me this. You could have informed my lawyer and she could have told me. Nowhere does it say that you have to tell me in person about any developments in the ambush case and I wouldn't have thought you would have wanted to," she says, and Kate is reminded, like a slap to the face, that Lindsay was a serving police officer for near on three decades and probably knows the law better than Kate does. "So why did you come?"

Lindsay's words leave Kate stumped. "Steve – uh, DS Arnott and I decided it was best to tell you in person," She manages to get out after a few seconds, and, to her surprise, Kate sees a look of understanding dawn on Lindsay's face.

"You thought you could get me to confess because you've caught Cottan." Lindsay's frowning slightly now, shaking her head, incredulous. "Don't you people understand? _I'm innocent." _

It's Kate's turn to shake her head. "I don't believe you. The jury didn't believe you. Nobody believes you, Lindsay." Kate's words sting her, she can see, but she needed to get them out. It's the truth. Everyone thinks Lindsay Denton is guilty of the crime she was convicted of.

"I don't think we have anything else to talk about, do we, DC Fleming?" Lindsay says, curtly. Kate stares through the glass for a long moment after the other woman's dismissive words, before flipping shut the notebook and sliding it into her handbag. When she straightens up, her bag slung on her shoulder, and looks back at Lindsay, she notices that she is looking away. Kate is taken aback to see weariness written in every single line on her face. Her last sentence has badly shaken Lindsay, Kate can tell.

Her bag starts slipping on her should and she hikes it up again, still watching Lindsay. Their eyes meet for a split second and Kate feels like Lindsay is looking straight through her. Even though Lindsay might have looked okay at the start of the visit she does not now.

Her eyes look like a dead woman's.

...


	8. 2 - Kate Fleming

_**a/n Here is the next chapter.**_

_**I'd just like to say a big thank you to everyone who's reviewed this. I really, really appreciate it. :) **_

_Two – Kate Fleming_

Her fingers slide over the keys, the melody playing softly into the silent cell. It's too quiet and Lindsay has to strain her ears to the hear it. She's only allowed to play it when it's on its lowest volume setting – if she plays it any louder, the privilege will be taken from her.

Lindsay doesn't play the keyboard loudly.

The piece finishes, the notes fading into silence. She sits for a long moment, with her wrists leaning on the edge of the piano keyboard, the final sentence that Kate uttered to her yesterday still weighing heavily on her.

In the eyes of everyone, Lindsay is guilty.

And she is guilty. She took the money from Akers, agreed to the plan, became complicit - but nobody was supposed to die. She's not as guilty as they all think she is. Lindsay is not guilty of conspiracy to murder.

Why did they have to die? If they hadn't died, if it had all gone to plan – if they'd just handed over the witness and then gone home to sleep in their own beds, then Lindsay wouldn't be here.

Alex Campbell – or whatever his name was – deserved what he got, though. He was a nasty piece of work and she shudders, thinking about what he did to Carly. Wallis and Butler didn't, however, deserve to meet their ends in the dark of night on an empty road, whilst their wives waited patiently for a return that was never going to happen.

Neither did Georgia Trotman, who was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and ended up dead on the pavement. She was so young, with her entire life in front of her, with all the hopes and dreams that come with that. Georgia could have done something with her life, or she could have done nothing and ended up like Lindsay, rotting away in some prison cell, but she was robbed of the chance of finding out either way. She had no way of knowing that the last thing she'd ever do would be to confront a man in a hospital. A few minutes later, she would be flung of a fifth storey window and plunge to her death. No, she didn't deserve that.

Lindsay hasn't made up her mind if Akers did or not. She didn't know the woman well enough to form an opinion of her. What Lindsay does know is that maybe it was kinder for Akers to die in the attack than to spend fifteen years in a cold, concrete cell - all alone, so alone.

The thought repulses her and Lindsay sits in shock, surprised she could think such a thought without blinking. Mike changed her. The ambush changed her. Prison has changed her. Lindsay is not the same woman she was two years ago – before the ambush, before Carly Kirk, before everything in her life went wrong.

She sighs and leans back in her chair, thinking about Kate Fleming and why she came the day before. It annoyed Lindsay that they thought she'd confess just because they arrested someone else. If Lindsay had anything on Cottan, she would have kept her mouth shut. She's sure he was the one who ordered that everyone be killed.

The one who ordered her to be spared.

She still can't quite work out why she was saved. Lindsay always thought it was accident, rather than design, that led to her surviving the ambush – but it turns out she was wrong about that.

She still sees it in her head; the spray of bullets, the blaze engulfing the car, Akers struggling to extinguish the flames that were scorching her skin. It's stayed with her over the years; the orange hue of the fire lighting up the dark of the night, the sound of the gunshots echoing in the dreadful silence. It disturbs her dreams and she hates it. Lindsay doesn't want to remember the night her life finally came off the rails.

It hurts too much.

If she was being truthful, her life started going wrong a long time before the ambush. It was just the ambush that was the final straw – the one that broke the camel's back, sending her whole life sideways, into disaster.

Lindsay pushes the chair away from the desk, the legs making a horrible scraping noise. She sits, staring at the wall on the opposite side of the room, trying to make her mind go blank. She doesn't want to think, or consider, on do anything at all. She wants her mind to go blank and then she wants to sit, her mind peacefully clear and think about ice cream and sunny days and swimming in the sea.

What Lindsay doesn't want to think about are ambushes, or death, or doomed love affairs, or prison, or Steve Arnott and Kate Fleming, or Jayne Akers, or flames and fire, or life sentences, or how hopeless her life is. No, she doesn't want to think about any of that.

And yet, even before she tries to clear her mind, she knows she won't be able too.

Things that are too hard to eradicate haunt the halls of her mind, hiding behind corners and behind locked doors, waiting for their chance to jump out at her and shout 'boo'. They won't leave, not ever, because they like the dark recesses of Lindsay's mind. They just won't leave her alone. They won't let her be.

She sighs again, resting her head in her hands, her mind determined to go over every word from the previous day's conversation with DC Kate Fleming of AC-12. Lindsay doesn't _want_ to think about it - about Kate's clipped tone, and her assertion that everyone thinks she's guilty, about how Kate looked at her with such barely concealed dislike - about how it was the third visit, out of only four in total, that she's had when the person on the other side of the glass has hated her, or near enough. Helen Dryden hated her and didn't even try to hide it, Mike viewed her with contempt and Kate...well Kate just seemed to want out of there.

Lindsay thinks about Kate again, about the similarities between the two of them. She wonders what Kate sees when she looks at herself in the mirror. Does she see a woman just like Lindsay or does she think she's different, that she'd never accept an offer like Akers' – even though Kate doesn't even know that Jayne Akers made her an offer. Kate would be just like Lindsay, given the chance.

Kate looks at Lindsay and sees an object of pity and horror. Lindsay looks at Kate and sees everything she could have been.

Lindsay has spent hours wondering if it is a flaw within herself, a lack of moral values or something like that, that led to her taking Akers up on the deal. Every time she considers it, she always comes back with the same answer. No. She's not immoral, or wicked, or bad. She was in a bad place, she needed the money – and she needed the satisfaction that would come with removing a man like Alex Campbell from the streets.

She just made a simple mistake. Lindsay got involved with something she shouldn't have, and yet, is going to end up paying for it for the rest of her life.

Lindsay sighs, and leans back in the chair. She glances around the cell, realising that her entire life is in this room. When Lindsay gets out of prison, and she will – only thirteen years to go now – she will have nothing on the outside. She doesn't have a house, – she gave the go ahead for her lawyer to handle a sale when she was given life – she doesn't have a job, – the police catch criminals, they don't employ them – she has no one to fight her corner, to help her get back on her feet when she's released.

It's going to be a struggle – but she'll be free. Lindsay will be able to do what she wants, go where she likes, eat when she likes – she'll be free! Lindsay will be able to build her life back up, she's sure. She needed a new start - though, this was not what she envisaged would give her one.

Lindsay pulls her chair back up to the table, sighing and relaxing her muscles. She sets her fingers on the keys.

Soon, Lindsay is swept up in the music, forgetting all her troubles, and just...just enjoying the moment.

...


	9. 1 - Eva Lawson

_**a/n Here is the next chapter! Hope you enjoy it. :)**_

_**(I own nothing. Except the mistakes. All of them are mine.)**_

_One – Eva Lawson_

The first thought that hits Eva when she sees Lindsay Denton is that prison has not been kind on her. She looks exhausted and world-weary as she sits down in the chair opposite Eva. It's been three years now since she's spoken to Lindsay and those three years look like they've been tough on her. Her eyes are ringed by tiredness and with her shoulders slumped, she looks overwhelmed and defeated. She is completely different to the confident, alert woman Eva defended in the trial. Maybe it was because then, Lindsay had hope – now the poor soul has nothing.

Eva doesn't make a habit of visiting clients she failed to keep out of prison. It's not good for her self-esteem. She thinks this might only be the third or fourth time – except for those she organises appeals for. Lindsay had wanted to appeal her conviction, but Eva had managed to get her to see that there was no chance that it would be overturned. She had told Lindsay that she was lucky to only get a fifteen year tariff on her life sentence. She hadn't reacted well, not that Eva was expecting her to – the woman had just been sent down for life.

She was never quite sure whether Lindsay was truly guilty of the crime she was convicted of. Eva has been a defence counsel for close on twenty years now and almost all of her clients have protested their innocence at some point or another, Lindsay isn't an exception. Eva almost learnt to tell which were telling the truth and which weren't. It wasn't very useful to know, because no matter if they were guilty or not, Eva still had to defend them.

She couldn't tell with Lindsay, which had come as surprise. The evidence all pointed to her being guilty, and yet, when she met the woman, Eva had been unable to make up her mind. Lindsay had been a serving police officer, she didn't have a criminal record, – not that she would, being a police officer – and therefore it was her first offence and what a charge it had been - conspiracy to murder, which carried a life sentence.

Lindsay was a nice woman, who Eva would never in a million years thought would be capable of something like the ambush that robbed three of her colleagues of their lives at the time, and then a few days later, another, and yet, there was something about her - something dark, something...something wrong that Eva couldn't put her finger on.

She sighs, resigning herself to the fact that she'll never know what goes on in Lindsay's brain, no one will, and therefore, no one will ever know what really happened that fateful night.

"Hello, Lindsay." Eva starts, cheerfully. "I'm sorry it's taken so long for this to be arranged." Lindsay first contacted her six months ago – after discovering that Matthew Cottan had been convicted of conspiracy to murder, just like her, for his part in the ambush. Cottan - who, it was proved, had links to the criminal gang that wanted John Thomas Hunter dead - had received a thirty year tariff on his life sentence. The case had also given Lindsay a renewed sense of hope about a successful appeal. So she'd written to Eva, her defence counsel during the trial against her, and asked if there was anything that could be done now there was a new conviction.

And Eva was here to tell Lindsay that, sadly, there was nothing that could be done. The evidence that had sent Cottan down hadn't disproved any of the charges again Lindsay, so was no help to her.

It's taken Eva so long to get here – just as Lindsay had written to her, she'd had four cases on the eve of their trials, and none of them could be rescheduled so she could visit Lindsay. The trials had gone smoothly, and Eva had managed to get good results in all of them, but it had meant the meeting with Lindsay had gone on the backburner – meaning it was only now, six months after Lindsay's initial contact, she was here.

And she was only here to tell Lindsay there was nothing that could be done.

Lindsay sat forward in her chair, and Eva realised that the alertness hadn't fully left the woman opposite her. It was still there, in Lindsay's eyes, as sharp as ever. "So, can you help me?" Eva could hear the barely contained hope in her tone. She sighs, knowing that she's going have to let Lindsay down, and Eva wants to let her down gently.

"Lindsay, I-" She barely gets past the other woman's name, but Lindsay doesn't let her get any further. The other woman is sharp, and the hesitation in Eva's tone is something Lindsay had obviously picked up on. Eva's reminded that for twenty years, near enough, she was a copper. She learnt to tell when someone was bringing bad news.

"Let me guess," Lindsay says, sarcastically, and Eva can see in her eyes how much this is hurting her. "there's nothing you can do?"

Again, Eva sighs. No, the truthful answer would be – but she wants help Lindsay, but she isn't making things easy for herself. She wanted to fight at trial, wouldn't even consider cutting a deal for a reduced sentence, or think about spilling the beans in return for immunity from prosecution – but then again, that would only come into play if Lindsay actually knew something and Eva isn't sure she does. "No, Lindsay-" Seeing the look on the other woman's face and knowing she's about to cut in, Eva raises her hand, pleading with Lindsay to give her a couple more seconds, before airing her grievances. "I'm sorry, but the evidence presented at Matthew Cottan's trial did not impact you at all and as Cottan has not confessed to anything, there's no way I can get the CPS to consider an appeal." Eva lets the words sink in, and watches as Lindsay lets her shoulders drop, and leans back in her chair. "I'm really sorry, Lindsay." Eva says, apologetically - really meaning it. She is sorry for Lindsay – especially now, seeing how crushed the other woman looks at this blow to her plan.

"I don't know why I got my hopes up." Lindsay says, and Eva knows she's trying to trivialise how much this has affected her, disappointed her. "It was stupid really," She continues, glancing around the room with a sadness in her gaze that unsettles Eva. "but I thought that I'd finally get to say goodbye to this hellhole." Eva smiles sadly at her, wishing there was something she could do. She likes Lindsay – despite the fact that she is a criminal, and there's no way of getting around the fact – likes the way that after everything life had thrown at her, she still manages to hold onto a shred of dignity – and yet, now, it seems that she's falling apart as Eva watches.

A silence descends on the pair of them. Eva doesn't know what to say to make the devastating blow any softer and Lindsay has nothing more to say to her.

Or so Eva thought.

"What if I tell you what happened?" Lindsay is looking at her though the glass, her eyes alive and so very alert.

"If you tell me about what?"

"About what happened on the 5th September." Lindsay's words surprise Eva, and she raises a sceptical eyebrow – Lindsay has never given any inclination of wanting to confess but now, it's looking like she's serious. Eva has to hold back a sigh – why can just one of her clients be innocent of the charges against them? At least this proves once and for all that Lindsay Denton is, in some capacity, guilty.

"Lindsay-"

"If I tell you the truth, can you get me out of here?" Lindsay sounds breathless, desperate, and Eva realises that this isn't all about getting out of prison – she wants to confess, the truth is becoming too much for her – someone needs to know, and it looks like Eva is going to be that person.

"It depends, Lindsay, on what you tell me."

Lindsay nods, sitting back in her chair, and Eva knows she's made her mind up. Knowing what's going to come next, Eva reaches into her bag and slips out a thin blue notebook, flipping it open and setting it on the desk in front of her.

"On the 16th August 2013, I witnessed..." As Lindsay speaks, Eva listens. Lindsay speaks for a good ten minutes, spinning a tale of injustices and wrong decisions, of lapses in judgement and vulnerability - of heartbreak and death.

It is the tale of how Lindsay Denton ended up being sent down for life.

Eva learns things she never knew about Lindsay Denton. She learns that her mother died not long after the ambush, about the abortion she didn't want but had to go through with - about the fact that Lindsay didn't think anyone would die. And even though there isn't a shred of proof, Eva believes her.

But there is no proof and that is the problem. It might be the truth but with no proof it's of no use to Lindsay - at least not now. "Lindsay, I..." Eva splutters, unsure of what to say. She doesn't want to crush the other woman's hopes, and yet that's exactly what she is going to have to do. "There's no proof, either way, Lindsay." Eva manages to say, after a long pause in the conversation. "I'm sorry."

Eva watches as Lindsay's face hardens into a frown and she hurriedly speaks, trying to get in before Lindsay can say a word. "Why didn't you tell me this before? If this is the truth, why didn't you tell me before the trial? I could have helped you." Eva knows that if she'd known this, about Lindsay's involvement, she could have got her a reduced sentence and she wouldn't have got life – because, Lindsay, she's not guilty of conspiracy to murder, Eva now knows. But she could see it in the other woman's face, how hard it was to even frame the words of truth - she has kept it bottled up for too long.

Lindsay stares at her through the glass, her gaze full of disappointment and anger.

"You don't believe me." Lindsay's voice is full of barely concealed rage and Eva knows why, and she curses herself – it was a slip of the tongue that meant she said 'if this is the truth' instead of just simply, 'the truth'.

"People died that night, Eva, and I have to deal with that." She continues, still angry, but her voice a little more controlled now. "Tommy Hunter was a bastard - I don't lose sleep over him. Jayne Akers might have been a corrupt bitch; she might have been a saint who made the wrong choices. I don't know. I didn't know her." Lindsay pauses, gauging Eva's reaction. After a moment, she continues. "What I do know is that Vince Butler, Alex Wallis and Georgia Trotman did not deserve to die." The sentence, spoken with weariness, and more than a hint of anger, hangs between the two of them for a long, painful moment, before Lindsay swallows and takes a deep breath. "And I have had to live with their deaths for three years and I can't take it anymore. I can't live with the guilt." Her voice is strained and strangled and Eva nearly winces at the raw pain in Lindsay's tone. "So I told you. I've never told a soul. But I trust you." Eva can hear reproach in Lindsay's tone and wonders how they've got here, to angry words and recriminations. Eva never thought the visit would end up like this, though, really she should have considered it a viable option. Lindsay is without hope, crushed. All she has left is her anger.

"_And you don't even bloody believe me!_"

The anger is easy to hear in Lindsay's voice, tangible and real, her voice much clearer and controlled than it was just a mere second ago. They both sit in the shadow of her words for a long moment afterwards.

"I wish I could help you, Lindsay - I really do." And she does, Eva really does. But there really is nothing that can be done. She stands up, bringing her bag with her and sliding it on to her shoulder. "I sorry, Lindsay, I truly am."

"You are bound by law not to repeat what I just told you to anyone else." Lindsay's voice is cold and calculating now, at complete odds to the raw and painful tone of just a few minutes ago.

"Okay, Lindsay." Eva replies, softly, watching the other woman with pitying eyes. "For what it's worth, Lindsay, I really am sorry."

There's a long quiet minute and Eva is about to turn away, when Lindsay's voice rings out into the silence. "You don't care. Nobody gives a damn anymore." Lindsay's feather-light tone unsettles Eva, who can hear the loneliness resounding from the words.

Lindsay looks away, and Eva smiles sadly at the broken woman through the glass.

And then, with a sigh, Eva Lawson leaves the prison.

...


End file.
